


Who's the Hero? (Not Me)

by xxxbookaholic



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Hurt No Comfort, Killing Game Was A Virtual Reality Simulation (Dangan Ronpa), Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Recovery, written for saiou white day prompt 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29947314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxbookaholic/pseuds/xxxbookaholic
Summary: It was everything that he used to think of as normal – it was everything he’d never get the chance to enjoy again. Because after all, judging by how things were going so far, chances of him ever escaping that hospital with a free-pass and happy smile were slim.orrecovery is harder than a lot of people would like to think.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi & Saihara Shuichi, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21
Collections: Saiouma Pit White Day 2021 Collection: Day 3: Soulmates AND/OR Post-Game





	Who's the Hero? (Not Me)

**Author's Note:**

> written for the saiou pit's white day event, prompt 3!!! it was post-game / soulmates, and i chose post game. 
> 
> THANK YOU to my beautiful platonic wife and beta reader, https://forestfairyayase.tumblr.com/ !!!!!

Upon waking up in the morning, Shuichi often heard screams: some were from attacked nurses, others from traumatized killing game participants, and on rare occasions, even guilty masterminds. They mixed in with the noises of the rest of that tiny, cheap psychiatric hospital; even the whirring of his room's fan sounded louder amongst the terrified shouts of his former friends.

Nothing about that hospital was quiet. From the optimistic therapists to the cries of various patient’s long-forgotten families, that place was always full of  _ some _ type of noise. The only time he truly got  _ silence _ was on the rare nights like this, when everyone remained peacefully tucked into their beds, and the doctors chattered away in the break room, not a care in the world for all of the teenagers who would probably never recover, no matter how often they were told they would.

On nights like this, Shuichi often found himself on the roof, trying to take advantage of the little peace he managed to find amidst the blank white walls and echoey hallways. It felt like every time he went up there, the sky was completely clear of clouds, covered instead in glittery stars and a high-rising full moon; years ago, he would have taken photos of the constellations and marveled in its beauty – now, all he could do was stare in dismay.

The night sky was a thousand times different from the world Team Danganronpa tried to spoon-feed him. In reality, the stars shone even brighter – sometimes, Shuichi was unsure if that was a blessing or a curse. It was almost like this world, this  **real** world, was constantly trying to taunt him; from the seasoned food to the textured popcorn walls, everything felt so much more consistent and, in turn, a lot faker.

Even his own body felt out of place. In the simulation, he was completely in his own skin, unconcerned about things like glitches and misplaced consciences; now, every time he looked in the mirror, he saw nothing but a blur. This  _ wasn’t _ his body, not even close to it – Shuichi was certain that he’s much leaner than this. His hair was longer last time he checked, his jaw wasn’t quite as chiseled, his nose didn’t stick out so obviously. Nothing felt right –  _ whatever _ right meant. (At that point, Shuichi couldn’t even tell up from down, let alone innocent from malicious.)

Wind tousled his hospital nightgown, stinging his skin and making his baby hairs stand up straight. All the cold did was remind him of his distinct lack of a winter jacket, but despite the weather, he stayed put, curling his arms around his knees and praying that he could just conserve body heat until morning came.

Outside, sound was different; rather than pained cries and beeping vitals, it was all the music of the city. People chattered, musicians played, lights flickered. It was everything that he used to think of as normal – it was everything he’d never get the chance to enjoy again. Because after all, judging by how things were going so far, chances of him ever escaping that hospital with a free-pass and happy smile were slim.

Besides, what all was out there for him, anyway? His uncle, the agency, his school friends – they were all gone, or rather, they’d never existed in the first place. The only things left for him were screaming fans and live-broadcasted videos of his friends dying. Who would possibly want to live freely in a world like that?

So, in that moment, Shuichi swore to never leave that place on the roof; he’d sit there for years – all the way until his death days, even – if it meant never having to step foot on the sullen ground again. (If he ever had to begin with, that was. For all he knew, he’d never stepped out of his room once before the killing game. So many unknowns, so little time. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he even  _ wanted _ to understand the truth of the matter. In fact, it would probably be better for him if he didn’t.)

With the wind being as loud as it was, Shuichi almost didn’t hear the creaking of the door behind him, or the footsteps of a familiar fellow patient. Fortunately, however – or unfortunately, depending on how you put it – ever since being in the killing game, he had gotten rather good at sensing sudden movements. Still, he didn’t move from his spot, instead opting to just stare straight ahead and wait for the intruder to speak.

It didn’t take long for said intruder to start talking. A thump was heard from beside Shuichi, signaling that the patient had sat down beside him, and then came the voice. “It’s pretty late to be sitting out on the roof. Nurse Shimuzu will think you’re trying to off yourself, ya know?”

In the killing game, he would have said it as if it were some kind of sick joke, laughing that horse-like sneer and waving his hands like he was shooing off the paparazzi. Now, however, it sounded like all of the cheer had been drained from his voice, replaced instead by a dull, to-the-point tone.

“You won’t be telling her, though, right?” Shuichi asked, his voice a similar type of monotone whisper. He almost felt like if he were to speak at a volume any louder than a mutter, he’d break the calm atmosphere he’d finally managed to provide.

The patient – or rather, Kokichi – laughed drily, moving to hang his legs off the side of the building. “I’m not that bad,” he said. From the corner of his eye, Shuichi could see the former-trickster inspecting his nails like they were the most important things in the world, eyes narrowed and mouth curved into a tight smile.

They were quiet for a moment, tensity filling the air, and then Shuichi agreed, “You’re not.” In truth, he hadn’t spoken to Kokichi very much since awaking from the simulator – actually, he hadn’t really spoken to anyone – but from what he’d heard, the former supreme leader had really turned over a new leaf. Kaede often talked about how much more honest he was, Himiko said that he taught her how to do card magic – hell, even  _ Tenko _ had admitted that he wasn’t so much of a degenerate as she thought!

And yet, what was  _ he _ doing? While all of his friends made an effort to get better, worked their hardest towards a hopeful future, Shuichi spent his days sitting on this goddamn  _ roof _ , drifting around the hospital like a ghost who still believed themselves to be somewhat alive. He would’ve been ashamed if he cared about recovering to begin with.

“So what  _ are _ you doing out here?” Kokichi finally asked, turning his gaze back over to the former detective. Shuichi, on the other hand, didn’t meet his stare, too caught up on watching the city’s pedestrians come and go. Below his feet, the world seemed so big, almost overwhelmingly so; in a way, it was comforting to know that the earth still turned, with or without him on board.

He just hummed a response, tapping his index finger on the roof's concrete floor. In truth, there was no real reason for him to be up there – he just needed a little bit of fresh air after all that chaos. Kokichi seemed to understand this, as he nodded along despite Shuichi having never said anything. Something was different about the boy’s demeanor, although Shuichi couldn’t place it; where he used to be loud and teasing, he was now uncharacteristically quiet – almost like the calm before a storm.

But unfortunately, quiet didn’t mean silent, because then he continued, “You’re very different.”  _ Speak for yourself,  _ Shuichi had to stop himself from snorting, eyes still trained on the ground beneath.

“How so?” He tried to bullshit his way out of giving a straight answer, too mentally exhausted to think very hard about much else but the wind on his back. He knew Kokichi was right – it was pretty damn obvious, actually – but for some reason, he still didn’t want to face the truth. Revealing himself like that would bring nothing but that same old advice again: “Just don’t be scared!” and, “There’s so much to live for, Saihara.” None of it was true, and yet his old friends fed the words to him like peanut butter to a baby, as if just saying to stay positive would make everything okay.

What was ‘okay,’ anyway? Sometimes, Shuichi wondered that himself.

Kokichi just scoffed at his faked obliviousness, leaning over so he was in Shuichi’s direct line of sight. “Back in the simulator, you were all, ‘ _ no, that’s wrong _ !’ and, ‘ _ we have to find the truth! _ ’” He leaned back again, collapsing backwards onto the floor. “But now you’re so  _ boring _ ! You don’t even talk to Akamatsu-chan, Saihara.  _ That’s _ how I know something is up, and you know I don’t like liars, so you better fess up!”

Shuichi sighed, finally turning to look at his visitor when he realized Kokichi would not, in fact, be leaving any time soon. “Yeah?” he said, curling his hand into a fist. “Well, things change. You can’t expect everything to stay the same forever, Ouma-kun.”

“No shit,” Kokichi said, kicking his heel twice against the building’s wall. “But ‘things change’ isn’t an excuse for being a dipshit. You do realize you’re the only one not trying, right? Didn’t Akamatsu-chan give that promise to you? ‘Let’s all be friends when we escape.’ What happened to that?” His interrogations seemed to never end, just drawling on and on until they sounded more like senseless blabber than words.

Shuichi wasn’t sure which part struck a chord with him; was it the implication that he was the weak link? Or maybe it was the mention of Akamatsu’s promise? Either way, all Shuichi knew was one thing – his blood was  _ boiling _ . “What do you know?” he snapped abruptly, finally sitting up straight. “You spent the whole game running away, while I was actually  _ doing _ something! I ended it,  _ not _ you.” To be honest, he wasn’t completely sure how much of that he actually believed – in truth, Kokichi was probably the only reason they all managed to get as far as they did. With his meticulous planning, Shuichi was able to uncover the secret of the killing game and allow them to escape.

And yet, although he knew this, for the first time in a while, he didn’t feel like he  _ believed _ it. So he kept going, rambling on about whatever came to mind first, “And who are you to call me a dipshit? You treated everyone here like an inconvenience! You  _ could’ve _ come to us for help, but you  _ didn’t _ , so you have  _ no right _ to lecture me!” By the time he’d gotten it all out, Shuichi was panting, trying to recover after his outburst. It was the most he’d said in a long while, and it hurt like hell.

Kokichi opened and shut his mouth a few times like a drowning fish, and then suddenly stood up, arms crossed in a way that would be worth hiding from if he wasn’t literally six inches shorter than him. “No, I think the question is what would  _ you _ know!” he argued, cheeks puffed out in frustration. “You spend all your time locked up in that room of yours! Maybe if you got out, you’d realize that there are other people in this world besides  _ you _ .”

He sounded more serious now than he ever had in the killing game, voice gruff and hands shaky. It was like nothing Shuichi had ever seen before, intimidating to the point where he subconsciously reached up for a nonexistent hat to cover his eyes. There was something intense about Kokichi now, as if there was a whole ocean of rage bubbling beneath that porcelain skin – Shuichi wasn’t sure if the sight made him want to run and hide or get closer.

“Huh?” was all he could get out, tongue dry against the roof of his mouth. All of the words that he’d once been spitting out like wildfire were gone in the blink of an eye, replaced instead with a feeling that could only be defined as pure, unadulterated dread.

Kokichi sneered at him, leaning down so they were almost at eye level. “You know what I’m talking about. Everyone is worried about you! Kaede is falling  _ behind _ in her recovery because of  _ you _ ,” he pushed himself straight up again, eyes narrowed. “If that isn’t selfish, then what is?”

They were both quiet after that, nothing but the wind breaking their tense silence. Too many different thoughts were running through Shuichi’s mind, making his surroundings blurry and voice unclear. Finally, he said in no louder than a whisper, “Then what do I do to stop?”

Kokichi clicked his tongue at that, spinning around on his heel and beginning to make his way off the roof. The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon; he probably didn’t want to get caught outside of the hospital – if Shuichi was thinking more clearly, he would probably be doing the same thing.

“You tell me. It’s your life, Saihara.” He shoved the door open, not looking back for a second. “Just don’t fuck it up – not for you, but for everyone.”

And with that, he was gone, disappearing down the hallway and leaving nothing but the sight of a spiraling hallway behind. Shuichi didn’t beg, didn’t tell him to stop and explain better; instead, he just turned to look down at the cozy city once more, heart sinking further down than a rock at sea.

That early morning, he was left with only one thought on his mind:  _ do I even care enough to fix it? _

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed the fic, despite how much of a pure angst fic it is! i wanted to really experiment with the hero vs villain roles in this piece, and try to get to the bottom of what really constitutes a hero. as you can probably tell, my conclusion is that there are no strictly good or bad people; everyone has flaws, issues, strengths, weaknesses. no label can describe the complexity of a human. i've always been interested in what constitutes a good or bad person, and this is what i've realized. please put the knowledge to good use.  
> again, thank you to my wife and beta reader! the link to her blog is in the beginning notes!!!  
> if it makes you feel any better, this fanfiction takes place in the same universe as my first white day piece, meaning that shuichi does eventually get out of the hospital, and they do get married. <3  
> have a nice rest of your day/night!


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